


dazed

by Dempsey



Series: fractures [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Kissing, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Stripper Akaashi Keiji, Stripper Miya Atsumu, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Yakuza, Yakuza Sakusa Kiyoomi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29759067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dempsey/pseuds/Dempsey
Summary: "Tell me Omi-Omi..." he begins with an expression that can only be described as wonder. Dark pools of brown stare into him with entrancement. "How many men have ya killed with these hands?"or: a self-indulgent yakuza!omi x stripper!atsumu fic
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: fractures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203833
Comments: 24
Kudos: 168





	dazed

If there's one thing Sakusa Kiyoomi hates the most, it's nightclubs.  
  
Dancers worship the music slowly through the fog like silhouettes, moving clumsily in a drunken-like state.  
  
The intoxicating primal need for attention, to move, and to touch and experience joy as one, that's what the nightclub was all about.  
  
Something Kiyoomi is _not_.  
  
Inside the club is the worst of all; like dancing on the Northern Lights, beneath the smoke swirls there are arrays of blues and acid greens. The music has dull exhaustion to it, playing over the dance floor as if fusing with the bodies in a loud thrum.  
  
Kiyoomi merely gestures to his _mutt_ with a lazy wave of his hand, Tanaka Ryuunosuke, who simply shifts his gaze away and takes his position by the club entrance, giving a short nod at him. He's obedient, Kiyoomi will give him that. Like a well-trained dog. In fact, his father insisted he was one of the best around. After all, a shaved head with tattoos littered over his face in a way that makes other people scram in another direction can only be described as commendable in Kiyoomi's world.  
  
With his safety guaranteed, he carries his attention to the large counter accompanied by none other than the club owner, Ushijima Wakatoshi, and Kiyoomi finds it to be a wordless exchange when he pulls out an impressive wad of cash onto the register. Wakatoshi's expression remains stoic, not even bothering to confirm the amount. He's a trusted member at this point.  
  
Wakatoshi gestures with a finger to a table that is garnering the most attention. Kiyoomi isn't surprised. Bokuto Koutarou is nothing but loud and boisterous, his voice rivaling the bass of the music vibrating through the floor, his usual outrageous spiky hair deflated onto his forehead.  
  
Bokuto spots him instantly, grinning so wide Kiyoomi worries his face may break.  
  
He's drunk.  
  
Kiyoomi doesn't entertain his stupidly loud jokes and makes his way through the club without a word, not bothering to cast his gaze to the many dancers as he heads to the booth. He takes no interest in the other dancers that are currently their source of entertainment or the familiar ravenhead sitting upon Bokuto's lap. He only reaches for a drink from a nearby tray carried by a waiter.  
  
Once he's seated, he's distinctly aware of the heavyweight of Akaashi's judging and observant gunmetal blue eyes staring daggers into his own.  
  
"What?" Kiyoomi snaps beneath the pulsing music flooding in front of the stage. He’s irritated tonight. His family has him on the ropes. Stress seeps into his mind like ink on paper. He takes in deep, ragged breaths and encloses his hands on the table.  
  
"You're here again," is all Akaashi says, his voice flat and disinterested despite the constant onslaught of Bokuto's sloppy kisses to his face proving to be a hefty distraction. "Is it the us—Bokuto-san don't touch!" He visibly wriggles in the man's lap and scolds him with a pointed look, causing the latter to droop in defeat. "Is it the usual?"  
  
Kiyoomi scowls and ignores him, instead choosing to finally look around with a grimace. Akaashi is sometimes too smart for his own good, those calculating eyes could decipher anything. He's irked he knows him this well.  
  
He subconsciously pulls at his tie, loosening his collar to give himself some breathing room. It's too hot.  
  
"Ah, leave him be Akaaaaashi, y'know he's here to see the _fox_ ," Bokuto drawls with a hiccup, earning a low chuckle from Akaashi himself and a glare from Kiyoomi.  
  
The fox. He's Kiyoomi's favorite. His usual. The fox is actually the only reason he comes to this club. The only reason he chooses to ignore the loud music and the disgusting glimpse of sweat.  
  
As if by sheer coincidence, the music changes into something more slow and heavy, from upbeat to seductive. Kiyoomi's confused until he shifts his gaze to the main stage.  
  
There are no other words besides captivating to describe the view in front of him. He's easily entranced. His frustrated demeanor simply melting at the sight.  
  
Like a drug, Kiyoomi is soon addicted.  
  
A hand stays still on the pole, the fox circles around it, his long, lean legs taking painfully slow strides. He takes his sweet time, smiling with confidence at the audience, offering a wink and a cheeky smirk to whoever meets his eyes. The audience audibly coos, completely smitten. Kiyoomi is no exception.  
  
Those long legs and wide hips simply swing with a feeling of sensuality. Provocative. He's stunning with that ridiculously tight, white strapless bodysuit across his broad frame. The startling sight of perky brown fox ears nestles snuggly among messy blonde hair. His title just wouldn't be complete without it, giving a sort of innocent compliment to his devilish smirk. Kiyoomi almost chokes when he realizes he's wearing heels to match.   
  
Bokuto and Akaashi become a meaningless blur in the background as he watches the fox hoist himself into the air, spinning gracefully and with ease around the pole. When he reaches the bottom, his legs spread until they become a perfect split as he hits the floor. Somehow, both of their eyes seem to lock and Kiyoomi can tell the stripper is trying his best to disguise a big smile.  
  
Kiyoomi struggles to locate his glass, fumbling, embarrassed, and ignoring Bokuto's loud laughs. He doesn't dare to take his eyes off of him as he finishes his drink with a quick swig.  
  
It's been too long.  
  
The fox moves his body in agile waves. The neon hues of the club illuminating every perfection of his skin, lights bouncing off the sweat on his neck. Kiyoomi would usually find the sight of sweat repulsive, but not like this, not when he arches his back towards the pole in expert precision. With a giggle, the stripper lands on his stomach and arches his back again, lifting his ass in the air and basking in the cheers, smirking playfully when dollar bills get thrown his way.  
  
"You've got it bad, Sakusa-san," Akaashi says with a small, curious smile, arms wrapped lazily around the now very drunk Bokuto who has probably forgotten the first rule of no touching, seeing as his stupidly big arms are caging the other in.  
  
As the fox draws even closer to their booth, throwing winks into every direction and blowing a few kisses Kiyoomi's way, Kiyoomi is simply mesmerized when the man finally, finally ends his torture and saunters over to him as if he has one singular goal in mind.  
  
"My Omi is here," the fox says, still breathless from his dancing. Up close, Kiyoomi can now admire the way the sweat glistens with each rise and fall of his chest. His lips quirk into one of those devilish smirks, eyes shining with glee as he gives him a once over. The stripper doesn't even ask or hesitate when he lowers himself on Kiyoomi's lap, their chests flushed together in a tight heat. He's being nuzzled and Kiyoomi basks in it, allowing him to press small kisses to his neck.  
  
"Hello Atsumu," is what Kiyoomi replies back with, inwardly cursing himself for being forward but soon relaxing when Atsumu just lets out a huff of laughter, jostling on his lap. He begins to play with the black curly locks of Kiyoomi's hair, loving how soft they are to the touch and relishing in the little grunts he gets for his ministrations. “You were amazing up there.”  
  
"Hello, handsome," Atsumu cheeks, running his hands across his cheeks, dragging his palms down to cup his jaw, his neck, and finally, his shoulders. "Where've ya been? I missed ya..."  
  
Kiyoomi just huffs out a sigh and shrugs his tense shoulders, to which Atsumu pushes down a little to relieve some of the tension. "You know how work gets, baby."  
  
Atsumu makes a confused noise and cocks his head to the side. His eyes glimmer thoughtfully. "As much as I hate to say it, I wish ya visited as often as Bokuto-san does."  
  
He's pouting now, and Kiyoomi wants to kiss it away. He's too weak for this man. Kiyoomi sneaks a side glance at the pair across the booth who appears to now be in a tight liplock which Kiyoomi doesn't feel like interrupting. Bokuto is a cranky drunk and it's bothering to persuade him otherwise.  
  
The vibrations of the music come as an ache to Kiyoomi's head and a distraction to his ears. He hesitates with Atsumu still on his lap and reminded why he hates clubs like these.  
  
It's too loud, too noisy. Too _much_.  
  
After a few moments of silence, Atsumu seems to sense his discomfort and frowns, removing himself from his lap and grabbing his hand to lead him to a more secluded area. Kiyoomi almost complains when the warmth leaves him but snaps his mouth shut when they reach the private rooms.  
  
His limbs feel heavy and he struggles to keep up. He regrets downing that shot earlier.  
  
Upon the entrance, it's guarded by a scary-looking bouncer with blonde fuzzy hair accompanied by two black streaks. He's slightly hunched over but straightens up when they approach.  
  
His resemblance to Tanaka is what Kiyoomi observes first, leering at him with strange tattoos on his face.  
  
Those two would definitely _not_ get along.  
  
Atsumu beams at him, "Mad Dog-chan, won't ya let us in?"  
  
The man simply grunts in response, eyeing Kiyoomi up with suspicion and Kiyoomi wants to question his eyes. There are deep black indents that look like eyeliner. Is that makeup? He's curious.  
  
He doesn't have time to assess further, because the next thing he knows is that he's being pushed onto a long, plush leather couch and Atsumu's sitting on his lap again.  
  
"Better?" he queries, holding Kiyoomi's face tenderly and cupping his jaw, studying his expression with care.  
  
"You didn't have to do that."  
  
"I know love, but ya hate places like these, I don't know why ya come here sometimes," Atsumu says with a tilt to his head, brows furrowed in confusion. His fingers are playing with the material of his tie, tugging it until it falls off to allow the blonde to see more of his chest.  
  
"You know I only come here for you," Kiyoomi answers honestly, making the man in his lap flush in surprise. At least, Kiyoomi thinks it's a blush. It's hard to make out with the harsh fluorescent pink lights creating their own carefree dance onto them. Atsumu is about to respond when two heavy raps come at the door and Kiyoomi scowls at the disturbance.  
  
"Fifteen minutes."  
  
"Fifteen?!" Atsumu squawks in indignation, drooping in disappointment. His body slumps onto Kiyoomi's own. He's dejected he'll only get this short amount of time with his favorite customer. Kiyoomi gets the strange desire to console him.  
  
He wants to touch him.  
  
"No touching Omi, you know the rules," Atsumu murmurs into his ear, as if he knows what he’s thinking, turning his face so he can nibble onto his earlobe. He grabs the hands that are beginning to spider to his small waist and grins.  
  
Kiyoomi appears unapologetic, even as Atsumu intertwines their fingers and brings his hand up to plant small, soft kisses to his knuckles.  
  
"Tell me Omi-Omi..." he begins with an expression that can only be described as wonder. Dark pools of brown stare into him in entrancement. "How many men have ya killed with these hands?"  
  
Kiyoomi can only stare in stunned silence when Atsumu traces small patterns into his callous hands. It's ironic how easy to _please_ he is like this, simply a man of mercy with him on his lap. He's melting, and he can't find it in himself to complain. Rendered speechless, Atsumu giggles loudly and adjusts himself on his lap, making Kiyoomi hiss at the contact through his clothes.  
  
"Won't ya tell me?" Atsumu asks, pouting so unfairly that Kiyoomi is struggling to keep his hands pliant in his own. He wants to ravage the man before him, take him home and claim him as his own.  
  
But he can't.  
  
No matter the question, Kiyoomi will never bring Atsumu into his own work. It's not out of spite, he just doesn't want to see the beautiful blonde hurt.  
  
He's too precious.  
  
So instead of responding, he leans forward to capture Atsumu's lips in his own, Atsumu lets out a small squeak in surprise which Kiyoomi swallows with pride. He quickly recovers by flinging his arms around Kiyoomi's neck and pressing their bodies closer together. Kiyoomi deepens the kiss, sucking on Atsumu's bottom lip and relishing in the small breathy whines he gets in return.  
  
But Kiyoomi is a greedy man, escaping the hold Atsumu has on his hands and finding, then gripping that small, pretty waist that should be downright _illegal_.  
  
"Omi... ya shouldn't touch," Atsumu breathes out against Kiyoomi's lips.  
  
Kiyoomi pulls away and looks into those gorgeous deep brown eyes. He glances down at his lips again. He gives them a peck before pulling away completely.  
  
"You’re telling me I can’t touch what’s mine?”  
  
There’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but he doesn’t mean it. He’s still irritated, stressed and annoyed. Kiyoomi wants Atsumu’s hands on him again, and so the blonde begins to rub small comforting circles into his shoulder blades, relieving some of the unresolved tension.  
  
“Work got ya stressed again?”  
  
Kiyoomi hums, thumbing the skin at Atsumu’s waist.  
  
Atsumu pouts and looks away, unsure. He opens his mouth to speak again but a sudden, swift knock at the door prevents him from doing so. The fox whines in protest, "Ten minutes Omi, can't ya send in a little more money?"  
  
Kiyoomi almost considers it, "I really shouldn't sweetheart, work is busy..."  
  
The fox hits his chest with the palm of his hand, "It's always 'work this, work that' and ya never tell me anything!"  
  
"I know, I know please don't be mad at me," Kiyoomi says sincerely, his grip tightens on Atsumu's hips. "Please, baby?" Atsumu is too weak for that name and whines again when Kiyoomi's lips move to suck hard into the skin at his collarbone, a large hickey to mark what's his, and one that will probably take longer to fade and hide even with makeup.  
  
Atsumu doesn't seem to care though, further continuing his ministrations on Kiyoomi's curls with his fingers. "I hate ya sometimes..."  
  
"You love me."  
  
"No."  
  
"Don't lie."  
  
"M'not lying!”  
  
The yakuza flutters his eyes shut as those swollen lips press slightly to his jaw and he knows there's no room for anymore argument when he sees those eyes staring down at him. Pouty lips and red cheeks. He _loses_ it when that sultry tone whispers out a soft, "Omi..."  
  
"I've lost count. I killed _plenty_ of men with these hands _,_ " he starts and squeezes Atsumu's waist for emphasis. " _Bad_ men who do bad things to others. Bad men who don't follow orders and desire to kill me." He pauses.   
  
Kiyoomi hugs around the fox's waist after noticing the little tremours emitting from his body. "Bad men who will do anything to get to me. Get to you."  
  
Atsumu puffs out his cheeks and tries to wiggle. "Don't scare me, Omi..."  
  
Kiyoomi attempts to calm him down by peppering sweet kisses against Atsumu's cheek. "You wanted to know."  
  
He sighs in relief when Atsumu begins to press gentle kisses to the tense muscles on his shoulders while continuing to rub small circles into the juncture from his neck to his collarbone, knowing he was in the right place when Kiyoomi lets out a pleased groan.  
  
A last knock at the door signals the end of their time limit and Atsumu clings to him in dejection. “Ya can’t just say all that stuff and leave! Please don't leave!”  
  
It’s unfair, Kiyoomi knows but he won’t allow Atsumu to get hurt, no matter what. He’s his _weakness_ , Kiyoomi is aware. The yakuza can’t risk anything.  
  
“Kiss me, Omi...” Atsumu begs with pleading eyes and pouty lips. “Before you go.”  
  
Kiyoomi pulls him in close and kisses him again, and Atsumu mewls into his mouth. "Atsumu..."  
  
"I'll miss ya, please come back. For me.”  
  
Kiyoomi will miss him too, ever so much. It's difficult walking away from pleading eyes and trembling fingers. It's even harder to signal to his bodyguard so they can leave for the night. He'll miss the way Atsumu's lips feel on his own, and the warmth that always envelopes his cold heart.  
  
  
  
_Again_ , Kiyoomi thinks to himself. He'll come here _again_.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts for so long so I'm just gonna go ahead and share it :>
> 
> I might turn this into a series if people are interested? or if I'm motivated enuff T_T 
> 
> kudos n comments are really appreciated, thank you for reading.


End file.
